Heart of Honor
by Raven9
Summary: A young Dunmer adventurer seeks shelter in a Daedric shrine during and ash storm, and makes an unlikely acquaintance. COMPLETED!
1. The Shrine

"Any port in a storm," went the old outlander saying. I didn't think that they had ash storms in mind when they created that one. All the same I was grateful that I could just make out the towering, twisted spires of the old ruin just ahead.

I shielded my eyes against the stinging wind and made my way closer. Now I could see that it wasn't just any old ruin—it was a Daedric shrine that had fallen into disrepair. 'How wonderful,' I thought. 'It really is my day.'

If you don't think I'm being sarcastic, then you obviously don't know me very well. To put it in perspective, if House Redoran could throw you out just for being facetious, I'd have been banned ages ago. Still, I suppose that there's room in the world for sarcastic, slightly world-weary crusaders everywhere.

A particular ferocious gust of wind blew more yellow-gray ash into my hair and face. My eyes would be even redder than they normally were by the time I got inside. It's part of being a dark elf. Sometimes I'd wondered what it'd be like to have green or blue or even brown eyes. Maybe if I got out of this ash storm alive, I'd go to the Mage's guild and find out. I was sure that Ajira had some potion or magic unguent that could do the trick.

That's another thing about me: I ramble. Dark elves are not known for being especially talkative, even amongst their own kind. Outlanders find me charming, if rather longwinded, but amongst my own, I'm known as chatty at best and annoyingly talkative at worst.

"Questions, always the questions!" Skink-In-Tree's-Shade had grumbled at me once when I'd asked one or two (well, all right, closer to ten) questions about Daedra, Daedric shrines, and so on. The old Argonian had fixed me with a baleful golden eye before asking "What, is this Dunmer girl writing the book, then?"

"No, not really, Skink. I'm just curious." And bored. None of my guilds—Mages, Fighters, or House Redoran—had any jobs for me at the moment. And Caius Cosades was just a boring old Imperial coot, though I supposed that one day I ought to get off my little gray backside and deliver that package of papers to him.

He glowered even more—you've not been glared at until you've been glared at by a cranky, always-doing-something-of utmost-importance wizard—and said "Humph. You want the location of shrines to raid. You wish to see the Daedra. Take an old lizard's advice, girl: stick to looking at them in books."

What could I do? I thanked him politely, and, after visiting some used bookstores and offering the occasional bribe here and there, I had the information I wanted. Daedra were absolutely, positively, and under all over circumstances Not To Be Trifled With.

I decided to visit Ald'Ruhn instead.

Nothing like a nice, boring, House Redoran controlled town to make a girl feel safe and sound. But then this stupid ash storm had started up, and since it's really hard to see with ash and dust blowing around and turning the sky the colour of week-old urine and making it hard to breathe and most likely giving me some kind of blight disease in the process, I managed to get myself quite lost.

I glared up at the shrine as if it were the cause of the storm and made my way up the low rise upon which it stood. Isn't it funny how life works sometimes? I'd originally planned to make a visit to a Daedric shrine, but after I'd come to understand just how dangerous they really were, I'd changed my mind and decided to visit Ald'Ruhn.

Then this ash storm crops up, I get lost, and guess what? There's a Daedric shrine towering over me, erected to Vivec only knew which dark deity. "Funny how life works, all right. I just hope that there's not a bunch of Sheogorath worshippers in here."

Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness, had followers that were nuttier than the holiday cakes given out by the Temple during the Sun's Dawn festivals. Some of them were merely harmless eccentrics, but some were quite bizarre and many were dangerous. I'd heard stories of Orcs who thought they were Khajiit, Argonians who were convinced that Netches brought them cake and tea, mad Emperors, wood elves living in houses made of the bones of passersby, and worse. I looked heavenward. "Vivec, if You're taking special requests today, then I humbly ask that I not have to deal with any followers of the Mad God today. Thank You."

There was no answer from the great Warrior-Poet. However, the ash storm did seem to be letting up a little. A moment later, I caught sight of something moving amongst the tumbled down walls of the shrine. Apparently, Daedra weren't bothered by ash storms, nor did they need to worry about blight. Bully for them.

I moved closer, keeping a careful eye as much as possible on the ash-blurred whatzit in the ruins. It looked too small to be an Ogrim or a Storm Atronach, which was good, but I still couldn't tell what, exactly, I was dealing with, which was bad.

The winds shifted and died down a little more. Patches of the blue sky overhead were beginning to show through now. I could have moved on, but ash storms are notoriously unpredictable. Just when you think one has ended, another one can start in its place.

I was so busy studying the sky that I neglected to keep watch on whatever was moving about in the ruins. This was a mistake.

Something strong and sticky struck my sword arm, pinning it immediately to my side. Another strand of the same white filaments slapped into a section of the wall next to me. I struggled, pulling hard against the thick strands, but I only succeeded in entangling myself further. 'Great. I get through the ash storm only to get eaten by a giant spider.'

"Well, well, what have we here? It looks…tasty. And pretty. Pretty tasty!" A harsh cackle followed.

Wonderful. I was about to be eaten by a giant, talking spider. Well, if it talks, you can reason with it, my grandfather always said. "Um, I really don't taste all that good, I don't think."

"Nonsense! All mortals are tasty, didn't you know that?" The dark shape emerged from behind a large carved pillar. From the thing's waist up, it looked like a handsome male. Where its legs would be was the body of a large spider. It leered at me, apparently unable to decide whether to have me for dinner or something else entirely.

Oh yes, it was definitely my day. I was about to be eaten, and worse, by a Spider Daedra. "I'm really not. I mean, I have Blight! Oh, and um, Corprus. You may not see it, but even now, I'm getting all twisty and lumpy and gross." Shifted into what I hoped was a convincing portrayal of a Corprus victim. I even drooled. "Uhhhhngggh…"

The Spider Daedra only grinned. "Oh, don't be silly. Daedra can't get Blight disease. And we can't get Corprus, either." He looked me over, making me feel like if I ever got out of this mess, I would need to be flayed alive to ever feel clean again.

He began to caper in his obscene glee, seeming to dance on his eight legs. I closed my eyes tightly. I couldn't bear to look at him any more. "I can't decide if I want to fuck you first, then have you for dinner, or kill you, and then have your corpse. "Oh, decisions! So many choices. Am I hungry, or am I horny?"

The Spider Daedra began making a series of nasty, gurgling groans that I could only assume were sounds of lust and hunger. I didn't want to see whatever expression he had now, and so I kept my eyes shut.

"You're dead."

That was not the voice of my captor. I opened my eyes. The vile creature was dead in a twisted heap at my feet, blood pouring from a wound in its back and another matching it in its chest. It gasped and twitched as its spirit passed from its earthbound form back to Oblivion. Standing over the fallen Spider Daedra was a Dremora.

The powerful war spirit calmly cleaned the other Daedra's blood from his ebony longsword with a silken cloth. He didn't glance my way at all, seemingly intent on what he was doing. Finished with his task, he sheathed his blade.

"Thank you," I told him in a not quite steady voice.

The Dremora nodded. He pulled a dagger from his belt and went to work on the sticky webbing that still bound me to the pillar.

"My name is Alaunel Mithryr. What's yours?"

The Dremora did not answer. He merely continued cutting me free. From what little I knew of Dremora, they valued honor, courtesy, and valor. The Daedra who'd accosted me had exhibited none of those traits, thus incurring the Dremora's wrath.

Unfazed by his lack of responsiveness, I chattered on. "I've heard of your kind, but I never thought I'd meet one. At least not peaceably. I always figured that if I did, we'd have a big fight and I'd possibly lose. I'd never thought that one would come to my rescue."

At this, the Dremora looked me in the eye. "I acted as the laws of chivalry require, mortal. You were an armed opponent, but the Spider Daedra attacked you in a cowardly and dishonorable fashion. And, he was most ill mannered. My Clan does not tolerate rudeness, or dishonorable behavior." He finished and sheathed his dagger.

"Hmm, yes, of course. Wouldn't the laws of chivalry also require that if someone introduces herself, you do the same in return?"

The Dremora gave me a look that would have withered a statue of Mehrunes Dagon himself, but only said, "My name, mortal, is Shal'ir Kamaya. Now go. These ruins are no place for someone such as yourself."

"In case you didn't notice," I told him, gesturing at the storm still whooping and blowing about us, "there's still an ash storm going on. I thought it was going to clear off, but apparently, I was wrong. In fact, that's how this bastard took me by surprise. I was looking at the sky, because it seemed like the storm might clear off. Then it attacked me. The Spider Daedra, not the storm. Anyway—"

"Do you always talk this much?" Though the Dremora's face betrayed no such emotion, I thought I caught a flash of amusement in its slightly rasping voice.

"Well, not always. But often."

"How wonderful for me. Very well, mortal. Accompany me inside to wait out the storm. But do not stray from my presence. There are other Daedra about, and they will not regard you as anything but an intruder."

"And how do you regard me?" I couldn't resist asking.

"As a nuisance that I shall be glad to rid myself of. Come, before I change my mind." He led the way inside.


	2. Shal'ir Kamaya

The inside of the shrine was just as creepy as you would expect: twisted angles, colors not occurring in nature, cold, almost slimily smooth stone. I shivered a little, pulling my cloak more closely about my shoulders.

Without another word to me, Shal'ir took a seat upon a large block of stone. He folded his muscular arms across his chest, as though he expected me to begin prattling again. I decided not to give him the pleasure of being right. Instead, I looked up at the huge statue of a Daedra Prince.

Huge and terrifying, the gigantic figure sported four arms, each bearing a vicious looking weapon. His bald head gleamed dimly in the torchlight, but it was just bright enough for me to make out the malicious snarl upon the Prince of Destruction's ugly face.

'Well, it figures that it'd be a shrine to Mehrunes Dagon and there's a Dremora hanging around,' I thought. I had to wonder, though, why a race of Daedra who were known for their loyalty and strong sense of honor would serve a Prince so unpredictable and vicious.

Dagon's realm included the destructive forces of nature, the fog and uncertainty of war and battle, and other forms of destruction.

Regardless of how my companion might react, I felt that I had to know. 'He probably won't tell me,' I thought, turning away from the statue. 'I'm just a mortal, and it's not likely he'll see any reason to tell me his clan's motivations.' Still, I made up my mind to ask him.

Before I could even begin to speak, the Dremora fixed me with his vivid eyes. "Why do you go on living?" he asked. "Why do your kind not despair?"

I blinked and backed up a pace. "Um, what? What do you mean?"

Shal'ir stood up and began pacing about. "It is something that my Clan has never understood. The way of mortals. As we reckon time, your lives are small, insignificant even." He turned to face me. "Please explain this."

I shuffled my feet, one hand toying with the end of my braded white hair. "Well, I don't know, really. I don't think anyone does."

He continued to pace, his hands behind his back now. I wondered if he knew just how mortal that posture, those gestures were. It occurred to me that when you really thought it over, we were all the same. We all came from the same void of nothing. That all of us, even the gods, all came from somewhere greater than us all.

I shook my head. I didn't normally think like this; I usually left philosophy to the Temple and the outlanders who worshipped Julianos.

"Try," he demanded. "Why continue on, in the face that one will some day perish anyway?"

"You're asking questions that even the greatest minds could never find answers for," I told him. "All I can do is tell you what it is for me."

He turned to face me once more. "Then do so."

I pondered a moment. "Well, part of it's instinct, I guess. The thing that drives all creatures to do as they do."

Shal'ir nodded. "I know instinct. Even Daedra have instincts. Instinct is what causes us to hate and fear the Darkness."

"The Darkness? Is that sort of like death for mortals?"

"Yes and no. You see, when we are sent to the Darkness, we can see and hear what goes on in Oblivion, and I the mortal realms, but we cannot interact. We cannot interact with each other. In the Darkness, there is shame, at not having been able to prevent one's destruction. There is fear, for we fear that when we return, we shall be forever changed. Some of our kind return deranged and damaged. And the more powerful a Daedra is, the longer he or she remains there."

He grew silent, and the silence between us grew very large. In it, I understood something. "You were there, weren't you?" He nodded, turning away once more.

"Not long ago by our reckoning, but hundreds of years passed in this mortal world before I could return to Stormhold, where my clan dwells. Now. I believe that you were explaining the ways of your kind to me, and not the other way around."

"Oh. Right. I always did go off on tangents. Just one of my many talents, I suppose. And—" Seeing the Dremora's stern glare brought me back t the subject. "Anyway, instinct is part of it. Once, I asked my grandfather why it was so important to have children, aside from the usual reasons of the race dying out and so on. He told me that since even the elves do not live forever, our only grasp of immortality is through those who come after us, whom we have had a hand in bringing into life."

Shal'ir pondered this. "So. What you are saying is that even though your lives are so pitifully short, you have hope because in some way, you—or some part of you—will live on?"

"Yeah. And I guess if I lived until eternity I would think that a lifespan of seven hundred years is pitifully short, too. But some of, we do despair, and for some of us, there can be no consolation, and because of this we take our own lives before the time."

Shal'ir frowned. "Most interesting. Tragic, as well. It is rare for a Daedra to seek such a thing, and then only if it comes to the good of her clan. It is said that during the siege of the Battlespire, one of Nocturnal's Oathchildren took her own life for just this reason. Her reason was an honorable one." He shook his head. "Even amongst my own kind, it is rare that you would find such courage or loyalty."

"Why did she do it?" I asked, fascinated by the idea that an immortal creature would do this.

"No one is quite sure. The best we can tell is that by doing so, she hoped to shake her lover from the deep despair that losing Shade Perilous to Dagon's forces had caused. Apparently it worked, and Jaciel Morgen emerged from the pits of her own gloom to force us out."

We talked on for several hours as the storm continued to wail with the voices of a thousand spirits. Occasionally, Shal'ir would lapse into silence, gazing off into space. I left him to his thoughts.

I sighed. I had no real satisfactory reasons to share with him, not really. "I don't know if it really answers your questions. We still don't have any answers for ourselves. We like to think we do. My grandfather always referred to philosophy as the 'Art of making up answers to things that we have no answers for in the hopes that it will make us feel better.'"

To my surprise, the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "Your grandfather sounds quite wise for a mortal."

I smiled back. "Yeah, he can be. Some days, though, he can be very annoying. He says I'm too young for just about everything. If he knew that I was here, talking to you, I think he'd soil his—um, he'd be very upset."

"As I said, he is very wise. You are foolish, mortal. You trust me so readily."

"Who says that I trust you? For all I know, you're trying to lead me into a false sense of security so you can eat my heart for lunch."

"Hmm, no. I think not. You're much too young. I prefer my mortal hearts well-seasoned with the passing years."

I eyed him, backing up a little. Maybe it was time to go and deal with the ash storm instead. But then I saw that the smile was still there, along with a glint in his eyes that I had seen earlier. I laughed. "I don't believe it! You're teasing me!"

"You're not so dumb as most of your kind can be, then."

I stuck my tongue out at him, and then clapped a hand over my mouth. "Oh. Damn. I didn't mean to—"

He waved a dismissive hand. That hand alone could wrap itself around my throat and squeeze the life form me. "You've nothing to fear from me, mortal. Even if I wished it, I cannot harm you except in self-defense. You see, I am under the compulsion of a summoning."

"Oh. And here I thought you were being nice because you liked me."

"Don't flatter yourself, little mortal. As I said, I am under a compulsion. I was summoned to this spot by an aging Bosmer. He looked barely strong enough to wipe the drool from breakfast off his chin, and yet within that frail form was great power. He summoned me, and I might have not come except that he held my protonymic, or true name.

"I was compelled to obey his orders, which were that I was to offer shelter and succor to all who seek shelter here, that I was to show all mortals the same courtesy and respect that I would my own kind, that I was to defend the weak." He sighed deeply. "And so here I have been for hundreds, if not a thousand, of your mortal years."

"Why did he do this?"

Shal'ir shrugged his massive shoulders. "This I do not know. Perhaps it amused him to bend someone such as myself to his will. Perhaps someone in my clan had offended him in some way. I will never know. I have not seen him set foot here in hundreds of years, so I would presume that he is long dead. Like as not, I will be here forever, or until someone slays me in honorable combat."

I didn't quite know what to say to that.

He chuckled, startling me. "I see that I have rendered you at a loss for words."

"Yeah. I can't imagine what it must be like, to be trapped somewhere I don't want to be forever. But if you were killed, would you not go back into the Darkness?"

Shal'ir shook his head. "No. I would merely leave my physical form here, and my spirit would flee to Oblivion, and within a short time I would reform there."

"How is that you have not yet been able to do so? I mean, if you just stood really still, someone should be able to conk you on the head with a rock or something, right?"

The Dremora sniffed. "Hardly. Were you not listening, then, when I said that it must be honorable combat? Meaning that the one would do me the favor of sending me to Oblivion must needs face me in true battle, and that I must fight back to the best of my own ability."

"So…everyone who's ever tried to help you has been killed in the battle with you."

"This is so. And so here I remain."


	3. Storm Song

Author's Note:

After a year, I finally got back to work on 'Heart of Honor'. I apologize that it has been so long. I lost track of where the story was going and got blocked on it. I promise that I will not let it go for so long again. Your reviews are very important to me. Even if you feel that my writing needs work, I would like to hear your opinions.

I wasn't sure of what to say to that. Both of us were silent for a moment. Outside, the wind howled and screamed like long lost souls.

"Would you tell me about your home?" I asked him. I was looking for a way to break the silence, but I was surprised that he actually answered me. Arms still folded across his chest, Shal'ir asked, "What would you know of it?"

I thought for a moment. "Anything you wish to tell me."

"As you wish. Normally, we Dremora do not speak of such things to mortals. But I will make an exception in this case."

In truth, I could see in his eyes that my question pleased him, but I would not injure his pride by calling attention to the fact. "I thank you."

The Dremora sighed deeply, and then spoke. "Much as mortal kingdoms have smaller domains within the greater whole, so it is within our realm within Lord Dagon's. In your language, it would be called Storm Mount.

"As you might surmise, we Dremora dwell in the high mountain peaks. Storm Mount itself is atop one of the loftiest, quite near a massive volcano the likes of which would dwarf even your mighty Red Mountain."

I shivered. "It sounds terribly dangerous."

"Perhaps for mortals, but we Dremora have the means and the knowledge to live amidst the avalanches and earthquakes that shake our realm." He closed his eyes, a slight smile touching his lips.

"You must miss it terribly," I said. I was fairly certain that I would not miss such a violent land. On the other hand, I terribly missed Lake Amaya and Vivec. Shal'ir Kamaya would no doubt find the lake's placid beauty and Vivec's gleaming cantons to be terribly staid and dull compared to his turbulent realm. Beauty, I supposed, was as relative as anything else.

"I have not seen my home in centuries," he said flatly. "Even considering that we are immortal, the years wear on me."

I nodded. "I am sorry to hear that. I've not been away from my home for long at all, and already I miss it terribly."

"Then perhaps you have some inkling of what it is that I endure," The Dremora said. "As for me, I take great pleasure in these ash storms. I revel in the thunderstorms. When the lightning strikes close by and the thunder roars with the voice of a thousand Ogrim, it is almost as if I am home. I had stepped outside to enjoy the ash storm when that vile Perthan accosted you."

Remembering the Spider Daedra's foul advances, I shuddered. "Luckily for me then that it wasn't a bright sunny day," I said with a trace of morbid humor.

Shal'ir smiled a wicked glint in his crimson eyes. "Indeed, you are most fortunate."

Another silence followed as we listened to the wind screaming through the ruins. I thought on his words, trying to see the ash storm through his eyes. The storms were dangerous; they obscured vision, the high winds could do great damage to living creatures and things, and occasionally the storms carried the terrible blight sicknesses.

At the same time, when the storms occurred around dusk or dawn the ash and dust thrown into the air made for spectacularly beautiful skies. Brilliant shades of crimson, vermillion, deepest indigo and purple colored the Ashlands for miles around. The sound of the wind had a melancholy beauty of its own. "My grandfather has said that destruction has a beauty of its own and is as necessary to existence and life as creation," I said, leaning back against the wall.

"Again, your grandfather shows great wisdom. Few mortals can approach such concepts, much less appreciate them."

I yawned widely. "I think I understand…to a point." I explained my earlier thoughts on it. The Dremora nodded.

"Well enough. You see more clearly than most. Now. Listen."

We listened together to the storm's song. Finally, I faded into sleep.

"Mortal. The storm has abated."

The Dremora's words and his hand on my shoulder brought me out of a fitful, dream-cursed sleep in which foul beasts roamed the wastes and hollow-faced horrors worshiped foul gods in blood-red caverns. I shivered, grateful that it was only dreams. I sat up, wrapping my cloak around me in the sudden chill. "What—"

"It is late morning, perhaps early afternoon, as mortals reckon the passage of time," Shal'ir told me. He watched me curiously as I yawned widely and stretched, getting the kinks out of my muscles. Stone floors of Daedric shrines are only slightly more comfortable than the surface of a foyada

"Ah. All right, then." My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since some time before the storm had chased me into the ruins. I opened my pack and rummaged through it, finally finding a hunk of slightly stale bread and some scrib jerky. Water from my canteen completed the filling, if not very satisfying breakfast.

"How is it outside?" I asked Shal'ir.

He shrugged. "Clear and calm, at least for now." He sounded annoyed and mildly disgusted by the pleasant weather. I stifled a grin.

While I ate, I pondered Shal'ir's predicament. I myself wasn't experienced or well-equipped enough to take on a Dremora, to banish him back to his home in Oblivion and break the compulsion. Still, I felt a desire to help him. "Perhaps there's a way I can get you home," I said at last.

Shal'ir, who'd been pacing as I'd been eating, stopped and looked at me. "Speak."

"I can't do it myself. I'm not powerful enough to fight you; you'd stomp me into a thin red paste." His mouth twitched slightly. "But I might be able to find someone who can."

"And if you cannot?"

"Well," I said with a touch of my earlier dark humor, "I guess I'll risk getting pasted one day."

"You would do this for me."

I nodded. "You saved my life. You allowed me to wait out the storm here. And unless I miss my guess, you watched over me while I slept."

Shal'ir resumed his pacing; that was all the answer I needed. I said, "To me, it is more than fair and right. You have my word in this."

At last, the Dremora nodded. "Very well, little mortal: I would be interested to see if you succeed." He smirked. "I will do my best to make my opponent's death quick and merciful."

"Nothing like Daedric sarcasm," I said with a sigh. "May I ask one more question?"

It was his turn to sigh. "Yes, if you must."

"Do you ever get lonely here?"

Shal'ir turned his broad back to me. "Go now, Alaunel Mithryr."

It was all the answer that I would get from him. I left him, still staring at the statue of Mehrunes Dagon with his back to me. I was halfway down the foyada to Ald'ruhn before I realized that he had addressed me by name.


	4. The Pull

The Pull

A few weeks passed. There wasn't a single day that I did not think of Shal'ir Kamaya, his predicament, or our discussion. Even so, House Redoran kept me quite busy. Guar herders, giant slaughter fish, and lost pilgrims all had to be dealt with by me and me alone, it seemed. There were times that I was sure that Neminda thought to herself, "Let's give this one to Alaunel. She likes guar and peasants."

However, I did not wish to give the Dremora the impression that I had forgotten him, or my vow. And so, while I was out on the road a mile or so from town, I made use of a recent reward for work well done: a scroll of Summon Dremora.

Unless you wanted to pay an ungodly price to the Mages Guild for a Summoning, scrolls were the best bet. You had to do it outside of the town walls; the guards and the citizens might see it as an attack and act accordingly. Vivec forbid that I might want a little company or some protection.

Shaking a little—I had never used a scroll to summon anything in my life—I read the runes inscribed on the parchment. They glowed red-hot before consuming the scroll even as a red-black cloud swirled to life before me. Finally, the cloud coalesced into a Dremora Caitiff, in this case a warrior. The Daedroth towered over me by at least a head, not including his impressive horns.

"State your request and state it quickly," he growled at me. "I have no time to play with little girls."

"Very well," I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I was feeling. "I ask that you take a message to Shal'ir Kamaya, a Dremora Lord. He—"

"I know who he is, mortal," the Dremora snarled. "Get to the point!"

I swallowed. He looked big enough to break me in half, and he was nowhere near as…'nice'…as Shal'ir. "He is trapped in the ruins of Ashennamasatru. I ask that you please convey to him that he is not forgotten, and that the little mortal is working to find a solution for him."

The Caitiff glowered even more fiercely, but nodded. "It shall be done." He vanished in a puff of the same red-black smoke in which he'd arrived, leaving me to wonder if Shal'ir would, indeed, receive my message.

Of course he would. Dremora did not give their word lightly, but once given, it was as law. Besides, the Caitiff had been under the compulsion of the summoning, and would not be released until he'd completed the task.

I supposed that some people might have seen that as a waste of a valuable scroll.

It occurred to me then: might it be possible to summon a Dremora powerful enough to best him in battle? Thinking so, I went to the one person I knew I could count on for answers.

My grandfather welcomed me with an embrace and a lecture about 'tramping about when all this danger was afoot', then offered me a cup of tea. "Your favorite, imported from Cyrodiil," he told me.

"Sure, thanks," I said, but in truth, I was feeling quite distracted. "So…what have you been doing, and how are you?"

"Well enough, I suppose." He carried the laden tea tray to the table and set it down. As usual, he'd gone overboard: in addition to tea and the rest, he'd added several small cakes, cookies, and several small candies. The tea set itself was chipped and wildly mismatched. But I'd loved it since I was a little girl, and were I to have tea in the palace with Vivec himself, there could be no finer. "These ash storms are getting worse every day, though." He looked me over me with his still-piercing scarlet eyes. "You look well."

"I'm doing all right." I chattered on about less volatile events in my life that what I'd come to discuss with him: protecting the guar herds, how the local guards seemed to spend more time pestering people than doing their jobs, my boring 'Deliver this to some old guy over in Ald Velothi' mission, and so on. When I could avoid it no longer, I said, "Grandfather, I have a question for you. It will probably make you squawk—"

"I don't squawk, girl! I express concern for my only grandchild." He sipped his tea, eyeing me sternly over the rim of his cup as he did so.

I nibbled a cookie. He would indeed squawk when I told him of my latest adventures. I took a deep breath and plunged in. To my surprise, my grandfather did not squawk, not even once. He listened in stunned silence as I told him of how I had been caught in the ash storm and sought shelter in the ruins, only to be accosted by a nasty Spider Daedra.

"It didn't get to lay a hand on me, though" I assured him. "This Dremora came out of nowhere and—"

Now my grandfather exclaimed, "A Dremora! Alaunel, I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous those things are." He looked like he was about to deliver me a stern lecture that would probably end some time tomorrow morning.

"Shal'ir Kamaya is not a 'thing'," I said stiffly. "He saved my life, Grandfather. He killed the Spider Daedra before it could harm me. I didn't get to finish my story, though."

"By all means, finish your tale, child," he said with a wry smile. "I am dying to know about this Dremora you say saved your life."

I told him about Shal'ir, and his predicament. How he'd stood watch over me until the storm had passed, and how we'd discussed mortal nature and his home in Oblivion. "I even told him your definition of philosophy, and your ideas on the nature of destruction," I said. "He told me that he thought you were very wise, especially for a mortal. Oh, and I asked him if he ever got lonely, but that question really seemed to bug him, and he told me to go away."

My grandfather remained silent a moment. Then he said, "He sounds…most extraordinary. How he has not managed to go mad from Pull Sickness, I do not understand."

"Pull Sickness?" I mumbled around a mouthful of cake.

He nodded, pouring more tea. "Pull Sickness is quite fascinating, actually. First, you need to understand the fundamentals," he said, ignoring the 'Oh Gods' look I gave him. Grandfather was a retired Mage's Guild instructor, and I hadn't yet met any mage who could impart any information without a long-winded speech. Priests were just as bad: they always blathered on long enough to bore me, if not Vivec orMolag Balor whomever they were haranguing hapless listeners about.

"The Pull is a driving need all Dremora have to be with their own kind," he began. "All Kyn—that is how they refer to themselves--feel its strain at one time or another, depending on how long they must be apart from other Dremora depending on their duties."

"So…what happens if they're away from them for a really, really long time? Say, a thousand years or so?"

Grandfather looked terribly grim. "If they're too long apart from other Kyn, they will start to become more and more irritable and grouchy, the worst traits in their personality easily coming to the surface. As they go on longer without the closeness of other Kyn, they start to become mad. The madness is what they refer to as Pull Sickness."

I thought about this. "Shal'ir seemed fine. More than fine, actually: if anything, he was a little friendlier than you might expect."

"Mayhap he is fine, but mayhap not. If gone unchecked for too long, a lone Dremora will go insane and become both violent and sexually violent, worse so to other Dremora he may come in contact with, but even to other Daedra or even mortals." My grandfather gave me an especially stern look here before continuing. When he resumed, he told me, "In fact, there's a fascinating case involving a Dremora named Ra. He—"Grandfather droned on at length about the terrible suffering the Dremora endured and inflicted until he saw the tears in my eyes.

"I am ever so sorry, my dear. Not terribly sensitive of me, considering. I'll finish as quickly as I can. After a while, usually in the range of a year as mortals count time, the suffering Kyn will go into a comatose state. After too long, if the lone Dremora is banished, his Animus will be stripped of all that it knows and the Dremora will be reborn in a way, completely unknowing of whom he was before." He fell silent at last. "And that is the fate that awaits your friend, I fear. He might be sane and reasonable for now, but deprived of his Kyn for much longer…"

I swallowed. "I don't want that to happen to him, Grandfather. He is what he is, but I can't let this happen to him! Nothing—no one—deserves to suffer like that. He…I've not known him long. But Grandfather, I swear it—he is one of the most honorable beings I have ever met. He—there aren't words." I rubbed at my wet eyes.

"I do believe a miracle has occurred. Something has rendered you at a loss for words," he teased. I stuck out my tongue, smiling a little.

"This means a lot to you, doesn't it?" he asked gently, taking my hand. I nodded.

"I gave him my word. I won't break it." And he's coming to mean something to me, I thought. Never had I thought I'd come to feel anything for someone like Shal'ir. Dremora were dangerous beings, cruel to mortals and even other Daedra.

"You're so like your father." I blushed at the compliment. "Now, unless I miss my guess, you have come to me seeking a way to either break the compulsion, or to send him home." He sighed deeply. "I will research the situation, even though he swears there is no way around it. After all, are we mortals not famous for breaking the rules and doing the impossible?" His redeyes twinkled.

"I also wanted to ask you: is it possible to summon a Dremora even more powerful than Shal'ir, to defeat him in honorable combat? It only seems fitting that way."

"I am not too certain that it can be done. From your description of Shal'ir, it would seem that he is a Markynaz, or Grand Marquis. The only Dremora more powerful that Markynaz are the Valkynaz, Dagon's personal guard; there are only six of them, and they cannot be summoned to the Mundus. However, he might be deeply appreciative of a Dremora summoned to keep him company. It occurs to me that this, perhaps, is how he's held himself together for so long."

"Maybe so." I thought of the Dremora I'd summoned to take him the message.

"As for a long term solution, there's always the Fighter's Guild, for a price. Or perhaps House Redoran might agree to assist you. Or…" he trailed off.

"I could do it myself, once I become powerful enough."

"Let us hope that it does not come to that," Grandfather said.

After talking to my grandfather, I made up my mind that I would visit Shal'ir after all. I hoped that the Dremora I had sent to him would remain with him; nevertheless, I wanted to see for myself how he was doing.

I held no illusions, however. I didn't expect to be welcomed with open arms. I figured that his idea of an enthusiastic welcome for me would be a gruff 'You've returned' followed by some grumbling. Still, the idea excited me. I assembled my gear, told Grandfather I'd be gone for a few days (he made me promise to tell him in detail how Shal'ir was faring) and I departed through Ald Ruhn's main gate.

The ruins looked much the same as when I'd left, not that I had really expected them to change. This time, there were no hostile Daedra lurking about the exterior. That was good: I really wasn't looking forward to almost being on the menu again.

I made use of the same entrance that Shal'ir and I had used before and made my way towards the shrine. I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard guttural snarls and growls and the occasional muffled scream echoing out from the shrine ahead.

Was Shal'ir locked in battle with something? Or was he elsewhere, and I would have to deal with whatever beast was making those sounds? Shuddering, I drew my Elven long sword and moved cautiously forward.

What I saw nearly made me drop my sword in surprise. Not far from where I'd last seen him, Shal'ir was locked in an embrace with the Dremora I had summoned. They found ecstasy together and went into frenzy, biting and clawing at each other before Shal'ir pinned the smaller Dremora's hands to the ground, asserting his dominance as they coupled.

I ducked around the corner before they could see me. Their harsh breathing echoed in the shrine chamber, and it was the only sound I heard—aside from the blood rushing in my ears—until Shal'ir called out to me.

"We know you're there, little mortal. You may as well come out into the open."


	5. Revelations

I took a hesitant step into the shrine proper. "Umm. sorry to interrupt. Maybe I could, uh, come back later?" I gestured back towards the way I had come.

"Not to worry," Shal'ir said languidly. "We're finished here." He lavished a kiss upon his partner, who returned it eagerly.

I didn't know what to say. Knowing something was one thing. Seeing it played out before me was another. That they were both male didn't bother me. I had a friend back in Ald'ruhn who preferred men over women in his bed, and it made no difference to me. I couldn't stop staring at the entwined Dremora, though.

"Right," I said when I'd finally found my voice. "Well. This certainly explains how you've been able to avoid Pull Sickness all these centuries." I fidgeted with my hair, unable to pull my eyes away from them.

"Indeed," Shal'ir replied. His partner only smirked at me. They shared another kiss before they leisurely seperated. Shali'r turned onto his back, indulging in a luxurious stretch and giving me quite an eyeful.

Both Dremora had elaborate, glowing tattoos over most of their bodies. Shal'ir's were mostly serpentine, while his companion's were geometric and angular. They had Daedric characters tattooed on their bodies as well, and in Shal'ir's case, the tattoos were in a place that I knew had to have hurt like mad when he got them.

i They don't grow them like that where I'm from, /i I thought. Color heated my cheeks and I hastily turned away. Shal'ir's companion took note of this and laughed.

"Looking for something in particular, mortal? Is there something we can do for you?" Shal'ir chuckled at the lesser Dremora's sarcasm.

I swallowed hard. Forcing myself not to think of what his mocking implied I said, "I, well, actually, I just came to see how Shal'ir was doing for myself," I said, forcing myself to look at them again. The Caitiff was still very amused by my discomfort, but Shal'ir seemed to be lost in thought. "It would seem that I have my answer," I said. "I also came to tell you some of what my grandfather had said to me."

"Come closer, and speak. We certainly won't bite you," Shal'ir said, his red eyes glinting slightly. He was teasing me again. Apparently, sex had put him in a very good mood. Pushing aside my unsettled thoughts, I sat down.

Shal'ir listened closely while I related what my grandfather had told me. "That's why I'm not as shocked as I might be, catching you, err, busy. He explained to me about the Pull and what can happen."

Shal'ir nodded. He reached for his clothes and I felt something that might have been disappointment as he began to dress. His companion did likewise. Looking at the two Dremora, I felt something I didn't quite understand. The local Dunmer lads had never made me stammer or tongue-tied, and I was sure that my face was purple.

"Continue," he prompted, a trace of his usual sharpness in his voice.

I cleared my throat. "Well. We discussed the possibility of summoning a more powerful Dremora to defeat you in battle. He said that from my description, he had guessed you to be a Markynaz."

Shal'ir nodded. "Again, your grandfather amazes me. He is correct. Only the Valkynaz are more powerful, little mortal. They never appear in the Mundus, and cannot be summoned. A clever idea, but not a viable one." He glanced towards the Caitiff. "Excuse me a moment."

Sensing that this was a private moment, I turned my back to them. I heard Shal'ir speaking in a low voice in a language I didn't know, and the Caitiff responding in the same tongue. They spoke a moment more, and then the Caitiff returned to Oblivion.

"There was no need for privacy," Shal'ir told me, grimacing in the way that I had come to know was a smile. "I was but sending him home and thanking him for his…assistance. Tell me, Alaunel Mithryr: are you yet a virgin?"

I couldn't have been more flabbergasted than if he'd just professed undying love for me. "What? I, uh, that's a terribly personal question!" I squawked, forgetting to whom I was speaking in my shock.

The Markynaz folded his arms over his massive chest. "You caught me in a terribly personal moment," he stated. "I'd say we're quite even." His look told me that he expected an answer.

"I—yes. I am. And it's not because I'm some Dunmer prude with her nose in the air. I just haven't me the one I'm attracted to yet in that way." I stared defiantly back, daring him to say something sarcastic.

"I see. I must ask you something, else, now. Something that has nagged at my mind since first we met."

"What, you mean that wasn't it?" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

Shal'ir, still sated and relaxed from his mating with the Caitiff, only laughed. "Ahh, no. what I mean to ask you is this: why are you so interested in helping me? What good do you possibly get from it? Why do you not fear me, as most sensible mortals would?"

"Well." I took a deep breath. "Because it isn't right that you're trapped here. It's no better than being in a zoo. Why do I need to get something from it? And I never said I wasn't afraid. Courage isn't the absence of fear. It's doing what's right even when you know you could get your hand bitten off. Why are you asking me all this?"

Shal'ir turned away. "Because it is mortal nature to use us for their own gain and means to their ends. I cannot help but wonder: does this mortal girl seek to free because it is right, as she says? Or does she entertain the idea of having a grateful Dremora for an ally?"

"I—" I ground my foot into the dust on the floor. House Redoran stood for honor above all. I, as did many of my House kin, disliked having our honor called into question. "Well, this mortal does not use others," I answered as calmly as possible. "It isn't right, nor is it honorable. You saved my life. I seek to repay a favor that you did me."

"Do not forget: I am under compulsion to do so," Shal'ir grated. "Speak truly! I will know if you are lying, and my Kyn and I hate lies and deception of any kind." He moved to stand before me. Once again I felt overwhelmed by the difference in our sizes: he had to be close to seven feet tall.

I felt something else, as well. I pushed it firmly away, saying "All right. But still. As I said, it just isn't right! What did you do to that old man? Nothing. Perhaps he took a perverse delight in doing what you describe: bending another being to his will. Maybe he has a grudge against Dremora. Who the hell knows?" I'd raised my voice, but I didn't care. "All I know is that there is one of the most honorable beings I've ever met trapped in this world and he can't go home, and that's…just….wrong."

If he had issue with me shouting and glaring at him, he didn't say as much. Instead he calmly said, "You stand there and tell me that you do not use others, Alaunel. Yet did you not summon Karator for that purpose? To serve as your messenger?"

"I—well, I didn't know when I'd see you again. I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten my promise. But yes, I summoned him to deliver the message to you. I wasn't thinking in those terms, Shal'ir. Besides, you weren't too concerned about using him yourself, I noticed."

The Dremora snarled low in his throat. "Do not make comparison about that which you do not understand, _mortal_. And in all of this, you have not yet answered my question: why do you help me? What do you hope to gain from it?" His voice took on a sinister note. "Perhaps you would like to have me around so that I might make use of _you_ as well? I saw how you looked at us, mortal. Is that what you want?'

I pushed aside memories of what I had seen. "No, that's not it!"

"Then why? Tell me now, or never return here again!" His eyes flashed scarlet as his hand dropped to his sword.

Furious myself, I snarled up into his face. "Because that's what friends do: they help each other!"

Shal'ir looked stunned. "You…consider me a friend?"

"Yeah," I said. My voice sounded oddly choked and distant. "I do. Gods forbid that a mere mortal would claim friendship with a Dremora. Right now, I don't know what I feel. I'll be back. Eventually." I turned and stalked out of the shrine before he could stop me, or before he could see that I was crying.


	6. Stronger than War

Heart of Honor—Chapter Five

Stronger Than Battle

My duties within House Redoran kept me very busy for the next several months. During that time, I rescued and cleared the name of Athryn Sarethi's son, Varvur, rescued the daughter of a mad nobleman, and rescued some poor lost pilgrim. House Redoran's Rescue Girl: that was me.

Still, it paid off quite nicely, not only in terms of money and advancement within the House, but in terms of weapons (I now owned a fine ebony long sword), armor (a suit of enchanted adamantium), and sundry magic items: an amulet that allowed for both mark and recall, a ring that boosted my strength, and a scroll that would allow me to summon a Golden Saint to fight for me.

It was well that I had also accumulated good armor and weapons. Most of the money I had gained went towards hiring mercenaries to assist Shal'ir with his problem. These men and women were highly skilled, heavily armed and armored, and very expensive. The offer was the same each time: 500 gold down with an additional 2000 upon successful completion.

None of them ever returned.

The latest one, a massive, heavily scarred Argonian who would not tell me his name, had gone out three days ago. Something told me that should I deign to visit the trapped Dremora again, that I would find the Argonian's corpse along with those of the Nord Barbarian, the Breton Warmage, the Khajiit Nightblade, and the Imperial Knight.

That decided it for me. Though I still hurt inside over our exchange of words, I would never again consign another mortal to death at the Markynaz's hands. It was time that I took on the promise I had made to him myself.

"So," my grandfather said when I told him that at last I knew what needed to be done. "You have either run out of money with which to hire mercenaries, or you have decided that you are no longer quite so angry at your friend."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "He is not my friend, Grandfather. He made that abundantly clear when I was there last. What I do, I do out of honor. I made a promise, and I will keep it."

My grandfather turned away, but not before I saw the smirk on his weathered face. "Oh no, certainly not friendship." He was making tea again, as he always did when I came to visit. I suddenly realized that if—when—his time came, how deeply I would miss him, even though at the moment he was being a pain.

"And what does that mean?" I demanded, hands on my hips.

"It means, what it _means_, Alaunel. You have the answer within you. You always have. Yet you insist that for him to be defeated in battle is the only way."

"He has said so himself, Grandfather. I figure that if anyone should know, it would be Shal'ir. He's the one under the curse, after all."

"Ah, of course." He nodded his graying head sagely. Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled out the small limeware jar that held his tea. "I had thought we would have tea out on the porch, but I sense an ash storm coming."

"You seemed like you were going to say something," I prodded.

"Perhaps." He put a generous measure of tea into the limeware teapot. "But perhaps you do not wish to hear it. What do I know? I am a doddering old fool, unknowing of anything of use to someone young and wise." He smirked at me again.

"Grandfather…if it can help Shal'ir, then I want to know."

He added hot water to the teapot and said nothing.

"Please tell me."

"Are you willing to answer a simple question, honestly and to the best of your ability?"

I nodded.

"All right. Look me in the eye and answer." When I looked at him, he said, "Do you love him?"

"What?"

"Answer the question, or stop wasting my time and make some sandwiches"

I forced myself to keep his gaze, even though the stone tiles of the floor beckoned. "Yes," I said at last. "It's why he hurt me so deeply. It's why I haven't been back since. For a mortal to love a Daedra, it is foolishness."

Grandfather nodded. "Aye, and yet it happens. Daeinde sometimes has funny plans for us. Though the love aspect is really more Mara's sphere."

I eyed him. "This…doesn't bother you at all?"

"Well, of course it bothers me. You're my granddaughter, and I love you. I do not wish to see you hurt, or dead. On the other hand, you are an adult now. You can make your own choices and find your own way in life."

He paused. At last he added, "Love is stronger than battle. Think on that while we have our tea."

I thought on my grandfather's words for the next several days. I had indeed fallen for Shal'ir. It was not unheard of for a mortal and a Daedra to fall for each other—the Hero of Battlespire was rumored to be descended from such a union—but it was highly frowned upon by both sides.

I didn't want to love him.

One-sided love almost invariably ended in heartbreak. Yet love him I did. Knowing this, I also knew that I had to face him once more. Neither my honor nor my feelings would allow anything less.

"You have returned," were his words to me when I showed up at the shrine a few days later.

"Nice to see you again, too," I said with a lightness I wasn't really feeling.

Shal'ir nodded. The relaxed pleasure he'd shown after laying with Karator had worn off. He wasn't back to his usual surly self, but he wasn't exactly turning cartwheels at the sight of me, either. I couldn't blame him.

"I—I wanted to apologize for storming out on you."

Shal'ir studied my face intently with his lava-hued eyes. "Your words are true, and you speak with honor. It is accepted." A remnant of the warmth I'd begun to see months ago crept back into his gaze. "I likewise wish to make amends. I should not have taunted you so."

I blinked. "No, I take myself far too seriously at times, Shal'ir."

He raised a hand to cut me off. "It is done." His eyes took in my new weapons and armor. "You have done quite well for yourself, Alaunel Mithryr."

"Aye."

We fell silent for a moment. At last he spoke saying, "Regrettably, your hired warriors were unable to assist me in my problem. Is that why you have come?"

_I'm here to tell you that I love you_, I thought, _consequences be damned_. But all that would come out was a strangled squeak, accompanied by my nod.

He turned away, but not before I saw something in his eyes. "I will not fight you."

Swallowing hard, I drew my ebony long sword. "I fear that you have no choice, my lord." I lunged at him.

The sword never even got close. Faster than I'd ever seen anyone move, the Markynaz drew his own blade and whirled to block my swing. "I said that I will _not _fight you," he snarled. He batted my weapon aside with his Daedric claymore.

"Why not?" I demanded. "Everyone else I have sent to you is dead!" I lunged in, lower this time, with the same results.

"And you would bring this fate upon yourself as well?" He parried my attack with as much effort as it would take to swat a fly.

Undeterred, I stepped in again. Shal'ir knocked me back, using only the flat of his massive blade to do so. "Are you deaf or merely stupid, mortal?" he roared. He did it again when I charged in, feinting to the left at the last second. This time he knocked me across the room.

I lay on the cold tile floor, stunned. I heard his booted footsteps approaching as I struggled vainly to make my legs move up underneath me.

The footsteps stopped. The Markynaz hunkered down next to me, eyes blazing. "If you insist upon it, we will continue this fracas to its ultimate stupidity. You will give me one good reason that you insist on attacking me yourself. If I find it to be a worthy one, we will do battle, and I will kill you, as I have killed all the others."

He stood, and yanked me roughly to my feet. "I would have your answer!" He shook me hard enough to rattle my teeth in my skull.

"Because…I love you." I closed my eyes, waiting for either his derisive laughter or that massive claymore buried in my guts.

Neither of those things occurred. Instead, Shal'ir crushed me to his chest in a fierce embrace, his mouth seeking mine.

Startled, I could only stand there as he kissed me with far more gentleness than I expected. I had seen him coupling with Karator a few months ago, seen the pleasure that both Dremora had derived from the rough, almost brutal lovemaking.

Shal'ir pulled his mouth away. "This, I know. I wanted to hear it from you yourself." He kissed me again.

There was no going back now. Somehow in the midst of all the kisses, Shal'ir made short work of my armor. I lay back upon my cloak, shivering in the shrine's warm air, watching as the Markynaz removed his own armor. I let my eyes roam over him, taking him in much more boldly than I had all those months before.

Shal'ir grinned wickedly. Joining me on the cloak, he gathered me into his arms. "I will be gentle," he told me, before kissing me again.

"I know."

Shal'ir was as good as his word. He loved me with an exquisite gentleness that took me utterly by surprise. I had not known that a Dremora could be this way, much less with a mortal. Though he had not said his much, his actions and the look in his deep scarlet eyes told me his feelings in turn.

Every now and then, Shal'ir would simply hold me tightly to him, shuddering and breathing hard. Even with what little experience I had, I knew that it took every ounce of his self control to not simply have me then and there.

I traced my fingers over the tattoos on his face before stroking back the strands of hair that had come loose from the tail he wore it in. He rumbled low in his throat, a sound that I understood to be one of pleasure before kissing me again.

"Please," I panted softly as he slid one finger inside me. "I need you."

"Not yet. Trust me, little mortal." His thumb rubbed lightly at a deeply sensitive spot, making me jerk suddenly in his arms. He smiled, then kissed me over and over, his mouth muffling my cries of pleasure.

The fumbling attempts of the local Dunmer lads had left me cold. It had never felt like this: the maddening sensations of heated wetness flooding his big hand, his other arm holding me close as I writhed against him. The ache within grew stronger and more fierce, I felt close, so close to something that I didn't understand but sought out instinctively.

Shal'ir slipped in a second finger to join the first. He carefully pushed me open, thrusting with them against the tight flesh. I felt him move his fingers deeper still, then rub them in a beckoning gesture against something deep inside me. I cried out, startled at a sudden intense surge of pleasure, though I still had no idea what it was that my body needed from him. "Now," he growled, biting with sudden sharpness into my shoulder.

I shuddered against him, crying out as the tension broke. _This_, I thought, knowing somehow that this was what I had needed. I quivered madly, thrusting my hips into his hand, wanting more, but Shal'ir would not give it.

Instead, he slowly pulled his fingers from me and moved to kneel between my thighs. Taking his hardness in hand, he looked deep into my eyes. "I will not lie to you. There will be some pain, but I will do my best to not hurt you."

"Yes," I said softly, not caring if there was pain or not, if only I could have him. The Dremora covered my body with his own big one: I felt his hard length probing briefly against me.

Shal'ir pulled back and took me in a single thrust. I cried out as waves of hot, sharp pain flared within me, tears stinging my eyes. "Just the one time," he assured me. "It will not hurt you again." Saying this, he began to move within me, taking me with tender strokes.

The pain did not fade away entirely, but now the blissful sensations I'd enjoyed earlier returned. The two blended deliciously together; I moaned and writhed beneath him as we coupled on the stone floor of the shrine.

My body was simply too inexperienced to find release in this way. The pleasure continued to build, however, in slow, dark waves. One moment Shal'ir kissed me breathless, in the next, he bit with tender firmness at my neck and shoulders. His soft growls of pleasure grew louder, more harsh now, he moved upon me faster until at last he could hold back no longer and shuddered atop me with a loud, snarling cry that might have been my name.

We lay entwined on the shrine's cold floor for some time. My eyes were still closed, and Shal'ir kissed my eyelids saying, "I trust that I did not break you."

"I'm terribly sore, but broken, no. And I still, umm, ache." I blushed as I said it.

He nodded. "That is to be expected. It will take time for your body to understand what it must do." Suddenly, Shal'ir's head jerked up. He blinked, gasping slightly.

"What is it?" I asked, alarmed by his strange behavior.

He did not answer at first. He closed his eyes tightly, as though savoring something, and smiled. "You may not believe me if I tell you this. But I can sense Oblivion once more. I feel…the connection to my home, and my Kyn."

"Truly? My grandfather hinted at something, when I spoke with him." I told Shal'ir what he had said about 'love is stronger than battle'." I hadn't wanted to believe him, and at first, I could not face what I felt for you. That is why I tried to fight you instead."

Shal'ir nodded. Kissing me once more he said, "Have I not often said that your grandfather is very wise?"

I sighed. "I know that you must return to your home. It is hard for me to let you go, however."

Shal'ir nodded. "Eventually, I must. But you have my word on this, Alaunel Mithryr: I will return. You cannot escape me so easily."

He kissed me once more, and my last coherent thought as I gave in to pleasure was that he had me right where I wanted him.


End file.
